


November nights

by LuminousGloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autumn, First War with Voldemort, Light Angst, Longing, Love, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was strange being here alone for the sixth night in a row. He was surprised by how cold it could get, how the damp crept in. Even the glass of firewhisky in his hands did little to shift the chill. He'd switched on lights, put one of Remus' records on. He'd flicked various heating charms about the place. But whatever warmth he'd managed to kindle, somehow it kept seeping out.</p><p>The nights are drawing in. Sirius finds himself alone for longer than expected, and he doesn't like it much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November nights

Up in the sky hung the crescent moon, just a disappearing sliver when Remus had left, now an ever fattening slice. 

Sirius sat by the window, looking out at the empty street below. He was exhausted. Auror training was becoming increasingly unforgiving, sorting the wheat from the chaff apparently. These days it always left them feeling beaten up and knackered. Often too tired even to go for a quick drink.

And while James apparated back to his cosy home up in Godric's Hollow, back to a hot bath and a delicious meal and the arms of Lily Evans, Sirius came back here. To a dark flat, deserted and freezing.

It was strange being here alone for the sixth night in a row. He was surprised by how cold it could get, how the damp crept in. Even the glass of firewhisky in his hands did little to shift the chill. He'd switched on lights, put one of Remus' records on. He'd flicked various heating charms about the place. But whatever warmth he'd managed to kindle, somehow it kept seeping out. 

There'd been a letter for Remus from his work, most likely demanding to know where he was. They could go hang. The job had been assigned to Remus by the Ministry - people were nervous of werewolves and this way officials could keep an eye on him. Just political posturing and nonsense of course, and bright young wizards like Remus had to grin and bear it. And in his case do all the filing and heavy lifting and general odd jobs for a Wizarding company that made impressively hideous furniture.

The company with which they'd placed him publicly boasted about their reputation for rehabilitating criminals, some of them straight out of Azkaban. Criminals!  
It had been the first time of many that Sirius had been tempted to go and burn the blasted place down.  
But Remus had accepted the position, and still worked there, even though it was demeaning, tedious, so laughably below his abilities. He had always carefully maintained an outward appearance of the conscientious, responsible young man. It allowed him to get up to all sorts of mischief without ever being remotely suspected. These days he was trying to impress the Ministry with his placid compliance, hoping they might cut him some slack. He wanted to appear agreeable, a tame wolf - someone the Ministry could safely forget about. 

Sirius sighed with exhaustion, stretching his aching limbs. The record had stopped and he could hear the sound of tinny voices and laughter coming through the wall, their Muggle neighbours watching television. He poured himself another slug of firewhisky.

Not a word from Moony himself. Not unexpected, really. It was Remus whom Dumbledore kept asking to go on these longer missions, and it came as a welcome respite. While James and Sirius got to throw themselves into their Auror training, Moony was forced to work that bloody job, doing mind deadening menial labour. At least the order assignments gave him an outlet, something to turn his mind to, and his considerable skills. 

This time they hadn't parted on the best of terms. Sirius had been an arse, wound up about something trivial at the end of an exhausting day. Hours of strenuous training, countering barrages of endless attacks, he'd been hurt badly, had got patched up, and then got badly hurt again. Later he’d been told off for shoddy spellwork, then extensively quizzed on historical facts. Sirius had barely rallied the energy to apparate home.

Dead tired and in a foul mood he'd encountered Remus there, who'd spent all day doing work he detested. Sirius had bemoaned his nightmarish day. Remus, himself looking pale and shattered, had been unwilling to listen to any of it. He'd had an owl with a new assignment, and he was packing. Sirius had got irrationally angry, and Moony had said nothing. Had simply slammed his leather suitcase shut, barely gracing Sirius with a withering glance. Closed his eyes and disapparated with a deafening crack.

And nothing since. 

Sirius knew full well that he'd been a mindless prick. Inconsiderate, insensitive, selfish. Crude, even. He wanted to apologise, to make it up to Moony. But it was impossible now, he'd have to wait for Remus to surface again.

Lately the missions had been getting longer, trickier. Sirius had completed a fair few himself, and though most of them were small things like boring surveillance and apparently pointless observation, they increasingly verged on actual violence. It was just a question of time before they'd encounter serious danger.

Moony would be fine, of course. Even if things were to get hairy, Dumbledore would be keeping track of him, wouldn't he? Either way Remus was a fierce opponent, more than able to hold his own. He’d probably balk at the idea of Sirius worrying about his safety.

Sirius sighed again, feeling a lot less tense now the desired whisky haze had set in, melting any sharp edges from his thoughts. Two, three more nights perhaps. Then Remus would be back. 

And they'd iron it all out, he and old Moony. His old Moony. 

He yawned elaborately, dutifully deciding against another drink, opting instead for a very hot shower and bed.

\---

Just over ten days and still no news. 

Splayed on their old sofa, Sirius tucked into the steaming parcel of cod and chips on his lap. Turned out he'd been a bit heavy handed on the salt and vinegar - his hand was still shaky, having been hit by two separate curses today. And that damned healer forever giving him a bloody hard time, questioning him on background and theory and so on, rather than just getting on with the job.

A man talking on the Muggle radio was prophesying a further drop in temperature. In certain regions of the country apparently black ice might be a problem. Sirius wondered what it meant. Then he wondered whether Remus would return tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Or tomorrow night? He kept listening out for owls as well, but there came none. No cause for concern, he told himself. 

Once he'd finished his fish supper he smoked a cigarette by the window, watching the fogged up cornershop opposite, and the brightly lit chippie across the road. Hazy streetlights reflected yellow smudges onto the shiny tarmac. In the frosty drizzle there was barely anyone about.  
As he stood watching, several people in overcoats exited the shop and hurried away. Stocking up on alcohol and cigarettes, probably. He might have to go himself, if he didn't turn in soon. None of the figures were the right shape, none had the silhouette and particular gait he was looking out for.

James and Lily had agreed, the long silence probably didn't mean anything. There was a storm brewing on the continent, maybe owls were being held up by the bad weather. And as Peter had pointed out, if anything had happened they'd know about it. No news was good news. Wasn't it?

Eventually he left his spot by the window, went to clean his teeth and to wash in the tiny bathroom. Casting the usual heating charm on the bedroom he wondered where Remus would be spending the night. He was always vague about those details. Hopefully it would be somewhere warm, he seemed to remember Remus mentioning something about mountains before he'd left. Maybe a hut, or a cave, or perhaps even a hotel? Who knew.

Sirius undressed carelessly and put on some pyjama bottoms. After a moment's hesitation he pulled on a top half, too, one with a different pattern, and of a slightly different size. He sprawled on the cold bed and breathed in the faint scent. What was keeping Moony? Not more than a week this time, Dumbledore had reckoned. And had as usual denied him any further knowledge.

It was just his extreme fatigue making him sentimental, Sirius knew. But he missed Remus deeply, longed for his calm and lanky friend - his wit, his bright eyes, that warm and mischievous smile. Yearned for the sound of his laughter, the tickle of his hair against Sirius' nose. Those strong arms, the skillful hands. His beautiful cock. The rather spectacular arse. 

Sirius picked up a random book from the pile next to Remus' side of the bed. It turned out to be 'Fresh Angles on Arithmancy', for Merlin's sake. He briefly opened the slender volume - diagrams and mind numbing gibberish, of course - before returning it to the pile and picking another one. Then he noticed the small slip of paper that must have fallen out. 

It was a train ticket, a Muggle one. Sirius studied it for a bit, puzzled at first. Then he realised what it was. That train they'd taken across the Pennines back in spring. They'd been up north for a short trip, a holiday really. As usual Sirius would have preferred to have gone further afield, somewhere tropical, but in the end Remus hadn't felt up to it. He'd suffered a rough full moon, during a difficult visit to his parents, and because of a mission they'd already found themselves at the edge of the Peak District anyway.

And the trip had been surprisingly fun. The stunning scenery had made a refreshing change from hectic and congested London. They'd walked on the fells, admired gorges and caverns and pots and cairns, and the odd waterfall. They'd roamed the moorland. With Padfoot running wild, and Remus bordering on jaunty, those blissful few days had felt uninhibited and carefree. And they'd made a few odd new friends at various wizarding inns as well, even meeting native Muggles had been interesting. There'd been some getting plastered on local ales, and they'd got in a respectable amount of shagging, too, not least in some adventurous new locations. Al fresco, and so on.

Sirius smiled at the memory. That one time they'd been squashed against a windy pile of rocks with an amazing view, and he'd whinged on about the wet and relentlessly chilly weather. Moaning how it was much too cold to be up here doing this, and Remus' warm lips sucking his neck, groping him playfully and mumbling how Sirius was 'much too hot not to'...

Or that night of the storm, when they'd found shelter in a lone farmhouse. The elderly owner had happily welcomed them in. If the two young men were content to share, there happened to be a large guest room he often let out in summer. Remus had said of course under the circumstances they'd make do with anything. He'd done most of the talking, drawing the old man out on the many brass instruments that hung on the walls, on types of shale rock, on his absent wife.

And in the strange grey half light of morning, with the rain still pattering on the roof, Sirius had made love to Moony. Slow, and tender, more than just a shag. More like a long and leisurely exploration, a joyful sort of communion. They'd been almost completely quiet, letting their bodies say it all. And even much later, rumbling on that train through the rugged and very beautiful landscape, they'd remained somewhat taciturn, speaking uncharacteristically little, sharing a most comfortable silence. Sirius still thought of that day as an instance of almost perfect happiness.

Frowning slightly he slid the train ticket back between the pages. He was glad that Remus had kept it. Then again, knowing old Moony it might well have just been a random thing he'd appropriated for a bookmark.

With a frustrated sigh Sirius lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't like this at all. His mate being so far away, and things not quite right between them. Remus was Merlin knew where and getting up to no-one knew what, probably in some sort of peril, possibly still angry.

Then again, neither he nor Remus were the type to hold on to grudges. And they knew each other too well not to have dismissed their stupid argument, too well to have retained any bad feeling. There must be another reason for Moony's persistent silence, and it didn't bode well.

Deciding against a book after all he extinguished the light. As he tried to get comfortable his thoughts wandered back to that holiday, trying to ignore the vague feeling of creeping dread. His hand wandered south, too, helping replay the memory, and hopefully helping him to slip into deep and dreamless sleep.

\---

A fresh surge of frustration hit Sirius at the end of yet another strenuous day. The crack of his apparition echoed in his unlit flat, as cold as a crypt and damp and lonely. Exactly as he'd left it.

Thirteen days now, and still he had heard nothing. It worried him, although he was fiercely resisting any alarming thoughts. Moony would be all right. He knew how to handle himself. But he might have sent an owl, the bastard, scrawled him some sort of a message.

Sirius couldn't spend every evening at James and Lily's, and though he'd met Peter for a quick pint and a catch up they'd both been too tired and too miserable to stay very long, calling it a night before last orders. Pete had been complaining about some girl he liked stringing him along. Sirius hadn't really listened, he just shrugged and grumpily recommended Pete ditch her and find someone else. 

He'd been put out himself, even more so now, back at the freezing flat. Annoyed by Moony's continued absence, and lack of communication. Not even a bloody Muggle postcard! Wasn't he worth at least some sort of a note? He didn’t even need any explanations. A simple 'I'm all right' would have done. Sirius was livid. Surely he deserved better than this. 

Having knocked back half a tumbler of firewhisky, he made up his mind. Changed out of his singed clothes into the most Muggle ensemble he owned. Then he threw on his leather jacket and headed into town. Though he missed riding it he left the motorcycle at home. He'd not touched it since flying it up to Godric's Hollow at the weekend. Even in this weather a ride would have been invigorating, but he'd been tinkering with the bike and had left it unfinished. And this way he'd be able to get carelessly sloshed.

Having walked down the hill to Camden he had a couple of local pints at The Sluice, and at The Dark Heart. Later he stepped off a Muggle bus on Cambridge Circus and ambled past brightly lit theatres, down busy side streets, ducking out of the icy rain into a series of dingy places, two small boozers around Seven Dials, a tiny gin bar, eventually stumbling into a nightclub in Soho.

He wasn't sure what exactly it was he was looking for, but it sort of did the trick. The outing was immensely flattering. People were after him - giving him looks, buying him drinks, attempting to chat him up. He could have had his pick. And although he might have been tempted more than once, in the end he chose none.  
Some bloke called him a dirty tease when Sirius changed his mind about letting the man suck him off in the toilets. As it turned out Sirius couldn't bear to be touched, not by anyone. 

Much later he walked through the wind and drizzle all the way back home, drinking off license wine. High up in the sky above him the moon was growing ever bigger. He cursed it for good measure. These past ten days would have been the time when Moony was at his best, and where by all the infernal spirits was he? Wasting it on some damned assignment, Sirius thought resentfully. They should have been together, enjoying themselves, enjoying each other. Going out and doing fun things for a change. But bloody Moony obviously had no regard for what was important, obeying blasted Dumbledore's every beck and call.

When he got home he ran a hot bath, then promptly fell asleep, waking up hours later to a pounding headache and a flooded living room. It took him ages to sort it all out, by which time he was bleary eyed and exhausted and it was late enough to get ready for Auror training again.

James didn't even need to ask, and just tried to be encouraging. But there was no good news, not anywhere. And as Lily had pointed out, it was going to be like this all the time now. They'd have to get used to it.

'He'll be all right, Pads,' James said convincingly enough, though his face betrayed him. 

'He'd bloody better be,' Sirius murmured darkly.

Leaving the Auror Academy that evening he felt even more miserable. It was a Thursday night, but he wasn't in the mood for it. Or in the mood for anything.

Sirius always felt better with Remus around, he'd known that. Of course he'd miss him. But he wouldn't have expected this all-permeating sense of abandonment, this Remus shaped hole in everything. An absence he felt as keenly as a missing limb. It was frightening, really.  
Even his attempts at self-righteous anger weren't going to hack it for much longer. He just wanted him back.

And Moony would be back, he reasoned. Any day now. Because surely, if anything had happened to him he'd know it in his bones. 

 

Sirius slept fitfully, even in his dog form curled up on the clammy bed. An odd noise roused him, faint scratching at the window.  
He literally leapt into his human shape and hastily opened the window, blinking and half asleep. It was still dark outside, and positively arctic. The black owl was unknown to him and looked rough, windswept, with feathers missing. It flapped feebly in the early morning gloom, carrying a small but apparently weighty parcel. As soon as it entered the room it dropped onto the chest of drawers, stuck out its leg and passed out. 

Sirius detached the package carefully, then tore open the unfamiliar green paper. A layer of white tissue paper encased a small and heavy object. Shiny, black and chrome. Sirius stared and blinked. Then he laughed involuntarily. This was - an aerostatic propulsion diverter. Incredible. He turned it in his fingers, grinning broadly, shaking his head. 

It was the very part he'd been trying to get his hands on. For absolute ages. The one to fit his bike exactly. It was perfect.  
Only two people would have known to get this exact one, and James hadn't sent this.  
It had to be Moony, the brilliant bastard. Always nodding distractedly when Sirius went on and on about the bike. Pretending to listen whenever he waxed lyrical about his plans for restoring and improving it, things that would most likely remain unattainable. Sirius' particular motorbike was astounding - but old, the model long discontinued, a nightmare to find parts for. 

And now this!  
Never underestimate that boy, Sirius reminded himself yet again.

He searched the wrapping paper for a note, going through it twice, eventually retrieving the small slip tucked into an opening in the propulsion diverter itself. 

Dear P. Change of plan due to bad weather. Long delays. Expect return by 17th. Yours, M.

Impersonal, but then interceptable notes had to be. Sirius laughed again, out of delight at his present, and out of sheer relief. The 17th was tomorrow. They'd definitely have all of Sunday together, maybe a bit of Saturday, too, if Remus got back early. Maybe they would do something special.

When James spotted Sirius at the gates to the Academy a couple of hours later he raised his eyebrows and cracked a wide grin. 'Heard from him then?'

'That obvious?' Sirius beamed. 'Yeah. This morning. You were right about the storm. Reckons he'll be back tomorrow.'

'Oh. That's good.' The obvious relief on James' face was slightly disquieting. Neither of them was supposed to really acknowledge the potential danger. It wasn't supposed to feel this real.

'Yes, it is.' Sirius nodded solemnly. 

'And he's all right? And you two...?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Didn't go into any detail. But - you'll never guess what he's sent me.'  
Beaming again, and unable to contain himself for long, he pulled the little object from his pocket. 'Just look at this! Only the exact one!' 

While James examined and amired the propulsion diverter with suitable enthusiasm, Sirius launched into a hymn to the brilliance of the thing, and the wonder of anyone having got hold of one at all, let alone this particular model.

James understood what his friend meant to say, and laughed at his exuberance, rolling his eyes. 'Bloody hell, Pads.' he said lightly. 'Good on Moony. Must be true love.'

Of course it is, Sirius wanted to say, but he stopped himself. He no longer discussed these things with Prongs, not since the person in question was Moony. It just seemed too - close, too strange. Naturally he enjoyed making Prongs wince, springing lewd comments on him, revealing graphic details of what he and Moony might or mightn't be getting up to in the bedroom, or anywhere else for that matter. 

But where romance was concerned, he kept quiet. He was afraid of being ridiculed. Afraid of owning up to the true depth of his feelings. And it was complicated, telling your best mate - whom you loved like a brother - that you were genuinely head over heels with your mutual best friend. But that otherwise nothing had changed. It seemed easier to keep the two things separate.

James and Sirius enjoyed the day tremendously. Flight training was always the best bit, and as Sirius noted down an endless list of required reading by Monday he found himself actually looking forward to getting stuck into it.  
He would've liked a quick pint with Prongs and Evans but they had plans, so he decided to head home, perhaps via his own local. 

Sirius still felt foolish, and happy, and amazed. He might sort out the flat a bit, maybe even attempt to make them something to eat. Fat juicy steaks perhaps, or toad in the hole. Or that roast duck dish Prongs always made when he wanted to impress Evans.

He stopped at the butcher's, then visited the grocer to get a few things. Even this dark and wet evening had its charm. As he wandered the streets his thoughts returned once again to the motorbike, and the new part.

He was curious to hear how on earth Moony had come about it, it still baffled him. Sirius had been weighing up the alternatives for a while now, having all but given up hope of finding an exact match. He could hardly wait to get started on the bike.

And he was thrilled to be seeing Moony tomorrow, he was brimming with joyous excitement. He was going to snog him senseless. Make it up to him for having been such an idiot. He could hardly wait to talk to him, to hold him, to touch him.

Maybe the mission had actually been really boring. Just bad weather keeping him, nothing precarious. He wished for there to be no further missions at all, just for a little while. And there must be a way he could persuade him to leave his job and get another one. Through the ministry, if need be. He might have a word with Arthur Weasley, hadn't he recently started working for some department there? Maybe he could help. 

Still pondering these things he arrived at his front door, and stopped dead.  
Something was different. Someone had been here. The wards had been changed. He looked up in alarm. There was a light in one of his windows. 

Probably James, he thought. Though he'd had plans, so unless it was an emergency... Dumbledore then? Or Peter? No one else had a key. Neither seemed very likely.

Running through his options in his mind he rapidly drew his wand. He gently opened the door, quietly, and still grasping his shopping he silently climbed up the stairs to the flat.

There was music playing inside. Very puzzling. Surely it wasn't -?  
Sirius whispered 'Alohomora' and pushed open the door only slightly. 

He had been holding his breath, but now he gasped and laughed. A wave of happy relief flooded through him, warming his insides, immediately followed by fizzing excitement. 

There were the familiar boots discarded on the floor. Here hung the woollen coat on a hook. Sirius dropped his bags and slipped out of his jacket. The flat seemed toasty and welcoming and bright. He kicked off his shoes and headed for the living room, an idiotic smile on his lips.

It was the best feeling. He was home.


End file.
